


transnicolo's kink bingo

by lesbianettes



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, Hand Kink, Hands, Kink Meme, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Fixation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Semi-Public Sex, Shaving Kink, Sub!Andy, Tags updated as stories are written, Tenderness, Transnicolo's Kink Bingo, kink bingo, this is a series of fills for the tnkb, unconnected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: These are the fills for the squares on the transnicolo Kink Bingo card, for a variety of characters, ships, and of course, kinks.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Dizzy Ali/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	1. Shaving Kink (Joe/Nicky)

**Author's Note:**

> The tnkb is free to use with credit and is available on my tumblr, @transnicolo. Prompts are open via askbox. Check out #tnkb on transnicolo to see which squares have been claimed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a spiritual successor to "natural"

It’s one of those ways Nicolo takes care of him. He has done similar things for him as well, although not the same. In the river, he has washed him clean, has promised not to be angry or judgemental about the body gifted this cherubim love. Every part of his Nicolo is worthy of worship, even the parts he may not enjoy so strongly about himself. He loves him. Adores him. And that means all of him, even in the times of the year when Nicolo curls up in a ball and demands not to be seen. They look after each other, including in ways others might scoff at.

“I am still amazed you allow me to do this,” Nicolo says. His voice is rough, low. It’s a beautiful voice, Yusuf thinks, and he will never grow tired of hearing it. “I’ve hurt you, my heart. So many times. And although I would never intentionally cause you harm again, it amazes me that you allow me to take care of you in this way. I wouldn’t, but- but I could hurt you, with this.” 

He holds the straight razor in his hand as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. It fits his palm. Nicolo is comfortable with many weapons, even if this isn’t one of them, and it shows in how unafraid he is of the sharp edge. He could hurt himself, just as easily as he could hurt someone else. There’s safety in the danger. After all they’ve been through at the hands of others, at the hands of each other, Yusuf knows he’s safe here. If something were to happen, when he’s at his most vulnerable, Nicolo would protect him. In a heartbeat, he knows he would. 

“I trust you with everything I am, and everything I could ever be.”

Nicolo kisses his hips, one after the other, and gently spreads his legs open for him. Nicolo’s hands on his thighs are gentle, careful with him, but firm to hold him still. Sitting on the bank of the stream like this, he’s especially vulnerable. Watching Nicolo set down the blade to cup his hands, splash the water up Yusuf’s body to make him ready, is a gift. It’s easier when he’s wet. He knows that from helping Nicolo shave his own face bare, and the times when he does this, just to see what it looks like, feels like. He’s more sensitive naked like this, too, something he knows his Nicolo appreciates. 

“Be still now, Yusuf.”

He obeys without a second thought. Then, the blade. With such care it aches, Nicolo presses its sharp edge to his skin, and doesn’t cut him. Instead he shaves him, smooths across the stubble with his palm as though his bare body is something to be revered. That’s the way it always feels with Nicolo. There is nothing but the affection, the adoration, the love. The same he gives to Nicolo is returned, and though this is not a relationship built on giving and taking, it’s telling of their love how easily they give this kind of love, this kind of worship to each other. They are each other’s altars now. Whatever they had in the past is nothing in comparison to the now. 

“Are you with me?”

Yusuf smiles down at him, loves the way Nicolo smiles back as though Yusuf is his sun. If that’s so, Nicolo is his moon, and between the two of them, they own the skies. The heavens belong to them, belong to Nicolo, and the way he carefully washes the blade in the stream, as well as continuously cups his hands to splash water and clear it all away. Keep him clean. This is as much a cleaning ritual as it is another way they love one another. Yusuf watches him do this. Watches him shave him, feel him, touch his body. He instinctively responds to the way Nicolo holds him in his calloused hand, and the gentle touches across his skin. It’s just for them. 

“I need you to be still, Cuore,” Nicolo murmurs. “You keep twitching in my palm.”

“I can hardly help it when you touch me.”

Nicolo puts down the blade, and Yusuf worries he has made this more than it is. He understands that not everything has to do with these pleasures of the flesh, and yet. It’s hard not to want it from these touches. Should Nicolo be angry, or unwelcoming of the advances, or simply not in the mood, he would never push him on the matter. But then, Nicky replaces his hand with his lips, and looks up at him through his lashes. 

“We’re in the middle of something,” Yusuf argues, even as he curls a hand around the back of Nicolo’s head. “You cannot just stop for this.”

Then Nicolo pulls away enough to speak. “You were needy, and if you’re moving, I might hurt you. Besides-” he pauses to trace a vein with his tongue, and then smiles. “I enjoy making you feel good.”

“I’ll have to return the favor when we’re finished.”

“Of course, my heart.”

He can’t help the warmth in his chest at the knowledge he’s allowed to do so. Nicolo has complex feelings about himself, about his body and his love, in a way that means he isn’t always in a headspace that allows for reciprocation, especially when it comes to the specific intimacy of using their mouths to taste, feel, pleasure. Nicolo can be skittish about it, and Yusuf is more than willing to show patience about it. All that matters is having Nicolo at his side, no matter how. 

“Thank you.”

Nicolo hums a laugh, making him twitch at the sensation. But still, Yusuf keeps his hips still and cups Nicolo’s cheek, caresses him as he’s pleasured because the most thrilling part of it all is the fact that it’s the love of his life using his mouth to make him feel good. 

“I love you.”

Although his mouth is busy, he knows Nicolo feels the same from the look in his eyes and the deliberate way he hollows his cheeks in response. Beautiful. And when Yusuf comes, he knows Nicolo will finish shaving him, and then, Yusuf will lay him down in their tent, where they’re alone and safe, and he’ll make Nicolo cry in pleasure and then they’ll fall asleep, safe in each other’s arms. 


	2. Hands (Dizzy/Nile)

The nature of these relationships is such that they must be hidden, kept quiet and beneath blankets, in showers. This is not a place designed for fraternization, certainly not between women. Nile knows that. Dizzy knows that. But there’s more to it all than just the fact that they can’t be caught. Something about being so clandestine makes it feel closer, makes it feel more. They’ve been together since the very beginning of this tour, since before, too, have become inseparable. She knows Dizzy has her back without a second thought. They speak the same language with their eyes and hands and mouths, different from anyone else but communicable without ever even needing to learn.

That’s how this night goes, just as many others. In the dark tent, when everyone breathes deep and takes the rest they can get, Nile lifts the edge of her thin blanket and Dizzy slips under it with her. Many soldiers share their beds at night, anything to help with the nightmares and the things they deal with, so it’s alright that they do this so long as they don’t let on to everything else. It’s just them in the quiet hours, lips brushing and hands slipping underneath shirts. They get to wear undershirts alone to bed, even untuck them if it’s late enough. Beneath this thick cotton is the familiar smooth of Dizzy’s skin. There are little bumps here and there, scars, that Nile can’t wait to physically see in the sun one day. Not now, not here. But eventually, she knows, they’ll have that chance for intimacy. 

“Come home with me,” Dizzy whispers against her lips. “We can go back to Miami. My parents would adore you, Nile.”

“I wish I could.”

She doesn’t explain, because she knows Dizzy gets it. Nile has yet to tell her family, still too afraid, and while she knows they love her, there’s no way to know if this changes that. If her memory serves her well, Dizzy came out during her high school years, and was met with adoration. There’s no way for her to go home with Dizzy, to her family and her life, without explaining to her family why she didn’t come home to them instead. They would never understand. And if she tried to explain- her throat constricts at the very thought of it. 

“Where are you?” 

Nile looks at Dizzy’s eyes, glassy in the speckled lights through the holes in the camo covering. “Chicago. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just come back here, with me.”

With her. Always with her, that’s all Nile could ever want. She can’t imagine anything else, wouldn’t want to in the first place. All that matters to her is this, being together, even though they can’t do all the things they still want to. Some day, she can part Dizzy’s thighs and make her come undone with her mouth, taste her beyond traces on her fingertips after the fact. And just the same, some day, Dizzy can kiss her and push into her and make the headboard hit the wall. But until that day, they have this. 

“I’ve got you.”

She knows Dizzy does, knows she has her and will never take advantage of that precious fact. And it’s the only thing that matters. She buries her face in Dizzy’s neck and clings to her while Dizzy’s hand slips into her fatigues. It’s little space, like this. Her wrist is trapped tightly against Nile’s lower stomach, hotter than even the dry night. But she’s still good with her hands, fantastic even, and she’s had many nights like this to learn exactly what feels good. 

Dizzy buries two fingers in her, moving them slow and careful, so as not to make a noise from how wet Nile is for her. The heel of her palm is perfect to grind against, something Nile attempts as best she can without making the cot squeak. She buries every attempted moan into a kiss to Dizzy’s throat. There will be marks if she’s not careful, though. Maybe someday she can leave them. For now, she can’t.

“You’re doing so well,” Dizzy whispers. It’s barely a breath, but it feels loud when it’s the only thing Nile can concentrate on. “You’re such a good girl for me, Nile. Perfect.”

It takes a lot to stifle a moan at her words, especially as they’re accompanied by Dizzy curling her fingers inside her. 

“Do you want another?”

“Please.”

Dizzy pulls her fingers out and pushes back in with a third, smiling when Nile’s back arches and she spreads her legs as far as this thin bed will allow. She’s gotten good at coming quick, just as Dizzy has become skilled at making her. Nile focuses on the sensations, on Dizzy’s body pressed to hers, on the parts of her lover that she can feel with her calloused palms. And in moments, the pleasure begins to crest, overwhelming her with it all. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, babydoll, I’ve got you. Come for me.”

And she does, riding it out on Dizzy’s hand and her love. 


	3. Oral Fixation (Andy/Quynh)

“I don’t remember my first love,” Andromache said.

That’s how it starts. She said over a meal cooked on an open flame how she didn’t remember her family, or anyone who stayed around longer than a blip on the radar in her long life. She said she was alone. She said she was so starved of contact it ached, and she was so tired of having nothing to cling to before Quynh came along. She said she wanted something to make her feel cared for and wanted for the first time since she was a child, with no clue what that would entail or who could help her. Andromache tells of a pain that Quynh understands, even if for her, it does not cut quite so deep. It’s something, she can say at the very least, to compare with and understand. It gives her reference. 

And so, in a cold winter afternoon, wrapped in their leathers and furs, as Andromache rests her cheek against the crook of Quynh’s shoulder and breathes in the smoke of a fire, she offers something. It’s not as though she would get nothing out of it, but it’s something Andy will enjoy. If they’re lucky, maybe it will allow her to settle for a time, long enough for her heart not to race and the obsessive cleaning of her weapons to settle into something softer. This is theirs, from even before Quynh offers it.

“Let me help you,” she whispers. “You can have this, Andromache.”

She has to take off her tunic, although there’s a blanket she easily pulls over her shoulders to protect against the chill, her bare chest exposed to the wind. Andromache’s eyes are there right away, drawn to her body. They have been naked for each other before, countless times, as a play at intimacy and finding solace in a world that moves too fast for them, and this will not be the first time Andromache has used her mouth on this place.

“Come here.”

Andromache curls in close, allowing Quynh to wrap the blanket around her as well, and closes her lips around one pebbled nipple. It’s easy to worry between her teeth already, with the way the chill has made them peak, and Quynh sighs at the warmth of Andromache’s mouth in contrast to the freezing weather. 

“There you go, sweetheart.”

She pulls Andromache’s hair from its bun and combs through the strands with her fingers as the woman begins a steady rhythm. It’s the suckling rhythm she’s seen Andromache’s soft lips pull at the flesh of a ripe orange, juice running down her chin. There is nothing of that sort to be gained from this, despite Quynh dreaming in the back of her mind of a day that could happen. She doesn’t know if their bodies can, but the thought of milk running from the corner of Andy’s red mouth after this makes her stomach thrill in ways she can’t explain. 

The fire flickers in front of her eyes, sending dark clouds billowing up to be swept away in the moving air, very much like her Andromache in a fight. The woman is vicious and quick, uncontrollable in her righteous fury, most beautiful with scarlet splattered across the bridge of her nose. But this is a close second, maybe a contender for first, as Andromache looks up at her with ocean eyes and dark lashes, darker than usual with tears. Quynh thumbs them away with ease. 

“You look stunning, Andromache, absolutely gorgeous. And you feel so good. Like you were made for this.”

In answer, Andromache bites a little. The sting of pain makes Quynh shiver and tighten her grip on her hair for a moment before remembering herself. This isn’t about her pleasure or wants- but she knows afterward, Andromache will turn the attentions of her lovely tongue elsewhere- rather settling down and providing a new kind of comfort to the woman who completes her soul. This is so much more than just Andromache’s mouth on her tit, it’s a moment of adoration from them both to love and care for each other. 

After a couple hours, when the night begins to creep forward, Andromache stretches her sore muscles and switches to the other side. Her attentions have left a deep purple bruise, one that heals in seconds with the touch now gone, although the saliva left behind only adds to the cold feeling in the sudden absence of warmth. Quynh rubs her thighs together for a little relief. In answer, Andromache’s hand that isn’t clinging to her breast slips beneath the waistband of her fur lined leggings. It is just as frigid as the air, but quickly warms as she buries her fingers between the slick folds.

She sighs and tilts her head back, reveling in the slow, deliberate touch of Andromache’s hand as she has so many times before. It’s different now than the times before. They’re truly, completely taking care of one another, the way they were always intended to. Andromache exhales against her skin and loses some of her focus as she undoubtedly gets needy too.

“Let me help you,” Quynh offers. Andromache’s own pants are much looser, and allow for Quynh to sink two fingers into her and lazily fuck her on them. The rest of the world is nothing compared to the places they touch, here and now. Each sensation is a gift. “I love you, so much. You only have to ask whenever you need something from me.”

Andromache nods slightly. Their hands are fully occupied with each other in the most primal ways they know. Andromache is very familiar with how Quynh enjoys being touched, but somehow surprises her every time by switching up the pattern of her fingertips against her clit right when Quynh is on the edge, to draw it out a little longer, make it just a little different. And in turn, Quynh has learned everything she knows about pleasing a woman from Andromache’s body, and can bring her over the edge in a matter of minutes. She knows exactly how to find the most sensitive spots inside of her.

The two of them relax into this looking after one another, touching each other, until Andy’s thighs begin to shake and she moans against Quynh’s breast, and in moments, she’s coming on her fingers. She cries a little, as she does every time they do this to one another, and then finishes Quynh off in turn before pulling away from her chest. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Quynh just shakes her head. She replaces her shirt and wraps them both up in the blanket before they sleep for the night, restful and at ease. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @transnicolo


End file.
